Mustafa Ziyalan
et al.

A far away village under snow.
A nursery at night.
Ice cream in winter.

A daisy in drought.A sugar cube in rain.

Her late truth
comes
for her dreams
she grows
copper roots
ghostly flowers.

She'd save
tarred puppies,

write letters to distant cities,
run ahead, keep her eyes peeled for them,

whisper to every tree, every shadow
along the sidewalks, along the streets,

try to collect the scattered stars
every time her head bumped into the Milky Way.

The sea floated up the rivers
into the sky.

Something she thought eternal,
something like childhood,
was gone.

It's not mine this deep red shadowIt's not me this cloud I disown

I glide with the weightlessness of the dispossessed
to the bottom I can't find for the life of me

I crossed the spot where I'm seen long ago
honing the cloud-likeness further

to the point where the swinging branch
the sweat-drenched horse stop all of a sudden—

at
long
last
friendship
at
long
last
to
the
one
bliss
is
it

Photography on this page by Murat Eyüboğlu.

These poems are part of a hybrid project in progress
featuring photography and videography by Murat Eyüboğlu,
poetry by Mustafa Ziyalan,
music and spoken word by Shara Worden,
Clare Muldaur
and Rob Moose,
mixing by Alex Venguer,
editing by David Sarno,
design by Adam Frint
and
images of Jamie Ansley.